The Glimmering Sea

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The Isolotto di Nuovi stood abandoned, Torquato's garden gone to seed, the rosebush just thorny vines, the rose hips dry. Opening the door to his hut, Armida inhaled the odor of musty books. She walked to the shelves with an unsteady gait, scanned for the book on Venice she needed, and placed it on the worn wooden table where she had spent hours with Torquato. On impulse, she took another, in Latin, a language she hadn't learned, but she remembered the pages with beautiful illustrations. She wanted to admire them again. Finally, she took the map of Venice that Torquato had been so proud to acquire.

Rummaging in a cabinet, she found candles and the flint she would need for sparking. Back outside, she gathered the few vegetables and fruits on the ground that were edible. An old pitcher was perfect for collecting water from the well in preparation for the long night ahead. She passed the Green patched with dead grass. She poured water over the brown spots and went to the well twice again. The second trip was for the roses, and the final trip for her personal needs.

She flipped the Latin book open and then inhaled sharply at the unexpected image on the foot of the left page: a merman and a mermaid with dolphins and cherubs. It baffled her as to why the illustrator included such misconceptions. Merfolk did not have legs like a dog protruding from their tails. On the title page opposite, she strained to decipher the words. She finally unraveled the author, Cicero, and a phrase that was likely the title, Tusculanae Questiones.

Armida glanced up at the painting of the mermaid Torquato had loved. He had added a necklace. The links were finely detailed, gold with a pearl pendant. Oriana's necklace.

Oh, Uncle! Was this auburn-haired woman Oriana? Or was this necklace purely your painterly touch?

Armida would not let the painting turn aside her focus. If she was ever to find her uncle, she had much to accomplish first. Too much.

Switching to the book on Venice, Armida realized it did not have the binding that most of Torquato's books had. This consisted of hand-stitched pages of woodcuts and drawings with simple descriptions of buildings. It helped little with the practical steps necessary to get into Venice. It didn't tell her how to sail a boat or whether she'd need to pass through la Laguna as a mermaid and risk transformation once she arrived.

She had other basics to plan for, most notably food and shelter. Rinaldo had gone to Terra with Torquato's help. Given clothing, taken by boat, provided with coins to survive until he'd made a place for himself. Doing it alone took on an impossible scale.

Armida rested her head on the open pages. She'd been poring over the images to orient herself. She remembered the Canale Grande and San Marco from her day in Venice. The stately palazzos were unsuitable for her landing, although they had dark, watery entrances. Many, maybe even most, of the buildings fronted stone walkways without direct access to the water. She remembered few details of buildings she'd seen when in Venice. She needed the woodcuts to help place their locations on the map she'd spread on the table.

Armida determined she would spend time walking the island as practice until she was prepared to leave. Movement refreshed her for the reading and memorization ahead, which she found tiring, and provided time to plot the next day's tasks.

Several circumlocutions later, she'd laid out several scenarios, and her approach fell into place.

Tomorrow she would be in Venice.

Tomorrow she would begin her secret life as a Terran.

✧✧✧

At morningnight, while both sea and land were in darkness, Armida slogged through the heavy thicket, avoiding the clinging vines, to the tree-edged bluff. Trepidation trembled through her with the staggering idea this could be her last time as a mermaid; she might never return. The clothing she'd worn on her earlier trip to Venice would be too restrictive and heavy when wet so she wore the shift she had worn during her Initiate period. It was lighter and would inhibit her less. She had to wear something; morphing without clothing in Venice would be perilous.